


Sometimes the worst ideas don't lead to the worst end

by lavishsqualor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Preseries, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-27
Updated: 2011-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavishsqualor/pseuds/lavishsqualor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has a genius idea, or, well, he thought he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes the worst ideas don't lead to the worst end

**Author's Note:**

> **a/n:** Casdamn, this thing is a mess: unbeta'd and also my first somewhat? cracky fic. Honestly, I'm not even sure if it's slightly cracky, or just really awful – though I'm leaning towards the latter. Sooorry!  
>  **prompt:** beer popsicles are better in theory, from the [Texts From Last Night Fic Fest]()

It was so freaking hot outside, Sam could barely stand it. It was mid-July, and Sam and Dean were left by their dad to squat in some ramshackle house on the outskirts of a middle-of-nowhere Minnesotan town. Since it was summer they spent their days doing a whole lot of nothing. Well, Dean had managed to pick up some part-time work at the one body shop in town, but Sam had nothing, no work, no library access, really just nothing. When Dean wasn't working they'd spend most of their time in the backyard, sometimes doing target practice on empty soda cans, or occasionally taking a dip in the nasty creek at the far end of the property, to at least find momentary relief from the practically unbearable heat.

Another method Sam had concocted to cool himself down was consuming massive amounts of popsicles. He made them himself, since they were a shit ton cheaper than the store-bought kind, and super easy to whip up. His favorites were the Tang ones and the kind that he made out of real sun-steeped iced tea. Then one day he had an absolutely _genius_ idea: beer popsicles. Dean had recently introduced Sam to the wonder of beer, and Sam couldn't have been more pleased. Dean's only condition: Sam wasn't allowed to mention a thing about it to Dad, since he was still only fifteen. But Sam was more than willing to comply with that.

Sam was so excited for Dean to get home from work to try them out. They had over half a case of beer left in the fridge, and Sam'd only used two to make the popsicles. He was sure Dean wouldn't mind, sure they'd be so delicious that Dean would love the idea and regret the fact that he hadn't come up with it first.

Shortly after 5 p.m. Sam heard the Impala making its way up the windy dirt road that served as a driveway for their temporary abode. Soon after, Dean entered, shouting, "Hey, Sammy, 'm home!" Sam was in the kitchen, popping the popsicles out of their holders, but he could hear Dean's boots clunk up against the living room wall as he kicked them off, followed by the squeak from the somewhat springless couch. He threw four of the popsicles back into the freezer and carried two into the living room.

"Hey, Dean. You hot?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean replied. "Goddamn oven at work. Here too. How 'bout a nice cold one?"

"Well, I had an idea." Sam reached out his hand and offered a popsicle to Dean. "How about a beer popsicle instead?"

"A beer popsicle?" Dean asked as he took Sam's offering.

"Yep." Sam answered, before continuing, "Thought it was a pretty genius idea!"

Dean was giving Sam a strange look, but he raised the popsicle to his mouth. And Sam did too. They both sucked on them a little, before pulling them out and making simultaneous gagging noises.

"What the—" Dean blurted, as Sam spewed, "Grrross."

Dean immediately rose from the couch to head for the kitchen, where he threw his popsicle into the sink. "No offence, Sammy," Dean said with a smirk. "Great idea 'n all. Just– well, who could've known?"

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "What the hell, right? I tried."

Dean gave Sam a firm pat on the arm and a little squeeze. "Whaddya say we go for a quick swim? Then finish the rest of the beers and watch something on the tube?"

So that's exactly what they did. And it felt so damn good in that water, even if it was pretty gross, filled full of algae and covered on the bottom by something Sam didn't even want to know. Afterwards, they took turns taking quick showers. Sam had gone last, and after throwing on only a pair of flannel pajama pants, he grabbed two beers from the fridge.

The one tv that was left by the previous occupants of the house was in the solitary bedroom, and while it didn't have cable, at least the antenna was able to pick up three and half channels. Sam passed a beer to Dean, and the boys spread out on the double bed, leaned up against their pillows on the wall, and settled in. The next few hours were spent watching a horror movie marathon – first the original Texas Chain Saw Massacre and later Amityville Horror – and consuming the rest of the case left in the fridge, each taking turns to grab the next two.

While Dean had let Sam have a few beers a number of times now, this was the most he'd ever consumed in one sitting. And he was feeling it.

"Sorry for the stupid popsicle idea, Dean," Sam eventually said. "What a fucking waste."

"Hey, Sammy, don't be sorry. Was a damn good idea. And actually, I say we finish 'em off. Now that we're six beers deep, they probably won't taste so bad."

So Sam headed to the kitchen, stumbling only a bit, and brought all four popsicles back to the bed with him. Him and Dean ate the popsicles as quick as they could – had to, since they melted so fast in your mouth, the bubbles fizzing and popping in a very unappetizing kind of way.

"Yum," Dean said, around a mouthful of beer popsicle.

"Shut the fuck up, Dean," Sam replied. But he couldn't help the huge grin that came across his face. Couldn't help enjoying the fact that despite this being the most disgusting genius idea he'd ever came up with, Dean at least pretended he somewhat enjoyed it. They finished the popsicles off in record time, and next thing Sam knew he was slumped down from the wall, curled towards Dean and no longer able to keep his eyes open to watch the screen. He felt so good; he was warm, but in a good way, from being just the right amount of drunk. The last thing Sam registered before drifting off was Dean laying down as well, his hand resting on Sam's shoulder, and him muttering, "'Night, Sammy."

Good night, indeed.


End file.
